What a year it has been!
While that sounds quite dramatic, it's not quite accurate. The more accurate sentence would have been "What a year this is!"
I have never been busier in my life, and the reason for that will be announced later. But quite apart from any special reason, just managing two kids has been quite overwhelming. My son Rik is quite a handful, and keeping an eye on him is a full-time job.
And that brings us to the subject of this year's translation.
I chose this poem least year as it reminded me of Rik and his antics. But then, I decided to publish a different one and this remained unfinished. Now, finally, I am publishing this on the occasion of Rabindranath Tagore's birth anniversary this year. The accompanying illustrations were created using ChatGPT.
The Ploy
~Rabindranath Tagore 
Can fly away, right this instant
To a grove of heavenly flowers.
But he doesn’t, you know why?
With his head on mother’s breast
He loves to lie down for a rest,
If mother’s face he doesn’t see
His heart wants to cry.
My child knows every kind of word.
Yet, his tongue is such,
To understand it’s hard.
He stays mum, but why?
From mother’s mouth, words of her
To learn up, he is most eager.
That’s why with a dumb stare
Her moonlike face he’ll eye.
Such treasures my child used to own —
Yet he came to our lap
Like a beggar, forlorn.
But why in such a state?
Of poverty, this pretension
Grabs his mother’s attention,
That’s why he came unclothed
Like a monk, abstinent.
Boundless my child once stayed —
Where the moon wakes anew
The morning star goes to bed.
He let us catch him, why?
In mother’s bosom, nectary-soft,
In endless glee he would stay lost,
Sweeter than freedom, is being bound
By mother’s loving ties.
Crying, to my child, was unknown,
In laughter-land, he used to speak
Of happiness alone.
He wants to cry, but why?
To smile sweetly, when he chose
He could draw his mother close,
But his cries, in snares of pain
Bind her doubly tight.
